


love me like you do (what are you waiting for)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Desk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, bed sharing, canon character with disability, hello it's apparently skoulson porn day on tumblr, some of this is more explicit than others
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of tumblr prompts: basically, let me write Skoulson sex all of the ways.</p><p>(will my titles ever come from not pop music? unlikely. Thanks Ellie Goulding for this one.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. on the desk

**Author's Note:**

> for zauberer_sirin, who prompted: "3. on the desk", and for shortitude, who came up with this truly excellent prompt list

Daisy loves Coulson’s desk. It’s so solid, all old wood rubbed smooth along the edges, and she loves the way he sits behind it all stern authority, leans a hip against it while discussing cases with her, runs his hand lightly over it like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. She’s very glad he’s got his office back, because this desk is  _Coulson’s desk_ , and it would be a damn shame if it wasn’t.

Coulson loves his desk too, and that’s why he says it’s a rule: no sex on the desk.

It’s a  _stupid_ rule, Daisy thinks, because that desk is made for fucking on.

There’s no rule about her  _sitting_ on the desk, though, so that evening when he’s still working and it’s nearly midnight, she comes in, locks the door, boosts herself up onto the desk in front of him.

“Hi,” she says, “you’re working late.”

“I  _am_ still the Director of this organization, you know,” Coulson tells her, but his eyes crinkle up in a smile, and he leans into her kiss, rests his hand a little possessively on her knee. Daisy loves it when Phil touches her like that, too. It’s still so new, between them, and they’re making it good, but Coulson touching her like he finally has a right to? She loves it.  _Loves_ it.

He slides his hand a little higher, under her skirt, and that’s got her making a breathy noise which gets louder when he puts his metal fingers against her other thigh.

“You’re wearing a dress,” he says, low, and his eyes have darkened already. “Is this a hint, Agent Johnson?”

“It might be,” Daisy says, casual, and hikes her skirt up until it’s sitting draped across her hips. Coulson swallows hard, gives her a warning look.

“You know the rule,” he growls, and Daisy tilts her head, lifts his hands off her and spreads her legs.

“It’s not sex if you’re not touching me,” she says, and Coulson swallows again, because Daisy’s not wearing any underwear, and she’s got a hand between her legs, now, slowly trailing her fingers up her inner thigh. Coulson looks for a moment like he’s going to argue, and then he settles back in his chair, licks his lip in a tell that Daisy knows intimately, and  _oh_ , she’s really wet.

She starts touching her clit slowly, teasingly, putting on a show, and god, it’s so good, it’s  _so_ good. She moans, throws her head back, presses two fingers against her clit and rubs in slow circles, and Coulson’s heart rate is picking up, she can tell just from his vibrations.

“Look at you,” he breathes, “such a rule breaker,” and Daisy slides her fingers down, pushes them slowly inside herself, watches Coulson’s face.

“This isn’t sex, right?” she asks, her voice hitching. “If you had  _your_ fingers inside me, it’d be sex, I guess.”

“This is  _kind of sex_ ,” Coulson argues, “I’m pretty sure you’re getting wet on my desk, Daisy, it’s totally sex,” and god, Phil arguing with her shouldn’t get her clenching around her own fingers like this but it does, it  _so does_ , and she moans into it.

“If I’ve already broken the rule,” she gasps, “does that mean you’ll treat this as an exception and  _fuck me already_?”

“Yeah,” Coulson gets out, “yeah, that, yeah,” and he’s fumbling with his belt and fly, pushing his jeans down, grabbing her by the hips and  _shoving_ into her, and god, Daisy  _loves this desk so much._

(She loves breaking Coulson’s rules even more.)


	2. unauthorized use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for RowboatCop, who prompted: "16. unauthorized use of the metal hand", and for shortitude, who came up with this truly excellent prompt list

It’s not a  _bad_ day, Coulson thinks - bad days are phantom pain and cold radiating up to his shoulder and his elbow joint locking up - but it’s not a good one either. He doesn’t spill his coffee, at least. His hand shakes, and he frowns, but he doesn’t spill his coffee, so maybe it  _is_ a good day after all.

(God, he thinks, that his days can be so easily categorized this way, it’s the worst, and he regrets all the times he took things for granted. Like tying ties. Buttoning shirts. Wearing a  _wristwatch_.)

Skye notices and very carefully doesn’t notice, and nothing’s  _normal_  but Coulson likes that it’s so clearly her new normal. She’s in her favorite black tank top, and perhaps that makes it a good day, actually. Any day where Skye peels open her fieldsuit jacket to reveal bare skin and muscled shoulders and way,  _way_ more cleavage than Coulson can think about without his hands shaking all on their own, yeah, that’s a good day.

Still. Still. Skye notices, and  _notices_ , and that means she joins him in his bunk that evening, in that low-cut singlet and a pair of tiny sleep shorts, looking like she has a plan for him in mind.

She  _does_ have a plan for him in mind, Phil realizes, when she’s kissing him hard and grinding down against his metal fingers, holding his other hand firm above his head.

“Third prototype, right?” she says, and god, how is her voice so  _calm_ , he wonders. “How’s the sensation?”

“Better,” Phil groans, because he can’t feel everything but he can feel  _heat_ , and that’s better, definitely, than the first model.

“Fine motor control?” Skye demands, bites at his lip, and Phil gasps into it.

“You saw,” he says, “I didn’t spill my coffee.”

“Yeah,” Skye agrees, “you didn’t. So I think you’re ready for something a little more advanced. Get your fingers inside me, Phil, make me come.”

“ _Skye_ ,” he says, and she shakes her head, bites him harder. “Daisy. Daisy. That’s not-”

“That’s an  _order_ ,” Daisy replies, and Phil can’t avoid Daisy giving him an order like this, so he pushes the fabric aside, sinks two metal fingers into her up to the knuckle, and Daisy cries out so loud he thinks, again,  _we really have to get this bunk soundproofed_.

Fucking Sk- Daisy is  _much_ harder than pouring coffee without spilling it, and Coulson breathes into it, wills his hand not to shake or freeze or stutter. He can feel her tight and hot around him but it’s not the same, it’s not the  _same_ , and he wants so much more than this, wants to feel just how slick and wet Daisy is against him. He strains for sensation, clenches and unclenches his flesh fingers into a fist, and Daisy must be able to feel the muscle of his wrist working under her hands but she doesn’t let go, just grinds down harder, demands  _more_ , and he pushes a third finger in.

“ _God_ , yes, that’s good,” she gasps, and her voice is finally shaking, and Coulson knows that means she’s on the edge. He curls his fingers inside her, aiming for the spot he knows will make her fly apart, praying that he’s got the motor control for this, and yes,  _yes_ , it’s a good day, because the metal obeys him and Daisy is shuddering and trembling around him, beads of sweat on her forehead.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, and she lets his wrist go, sits back on his thighs. Phil flexes out his hand where it’s cramped up from her grip, slides his palm up her thigh relishing in the sensation of skin-on-skin. His metal fingers are slickly, stickily wet, and he frowns.

“This really isn’t authorized use of the metal hand, you know,” he tells her, “if I have to take this to Fitz and Mack to repair it’s going to be  _very embarrassing_.”

“I’d better clean it off, then,” Daisy teases, grabs him by the wrist and pulls his fingers into her mouth, and god,  _god_ , the sight of her mouth and tongue working over his metal fingers, sucking her wetness off, is almost enough to make him come right there.

“Why do you like it so much?” he asks, and Daisy shrugs, licks at his fingertips.

“It vibrates differently than skin. And it’s good practice for you, right.”

“Practice,” Coulson says, and lifts his other hand up to her mouth, because he wants all the sensation, now.

“Yeah,” Daisy agrees. “Fine motor control. Knowing that it’s yours. Knowing that you can touch me with it. It’s  _your hand_ , Coulson, there’s no such thing as  _unauthorized use_.” She moves the hand - his hand - to her breast, sucks his other fingers into her mouth all deep and wet and wickedly hot, lets him fuck her mouth until he’s writhing under her, and then she pulls back, raises an eyebrow.

“Ready for more practice?” she says, “because I want you to fuck me and use your metal fingers on my clit, okay,” and yeah, yeah, unauthorized use or not, Daisy’s right. This is  _excellent_ practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr if you want: notcaycepollard.tumblr.com


	3. 'platonic' pillow talk (and non-platonic morning sex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for nausicaa_of_phaeacia, who prompted: "("platonic") pillow talk turning into morning sex". 15, 17, 18 combined!

Daisy’s so cold, her fingers are numb. So cold, she knows her lips are blue. So cold, she can’t even think. The only time she can ever remember being colder, she was lying on a basement floor in Italy, bleeding out against a door. Even the fact that Coulson’s got her in his arms, got her in a bed pressed close against him, isn’t enough to warm her up, and she thought maybe that was impossible.

“Hey,” she jokes weakly, “that guy’s powers, they were really cool, right?” and Coulson just gives her a worried look across the pillow they’re sharing. “That’s the bit where you tell me,  _ice cool_ , Phil,” she cracks again, and  _okay_ , Andrew might have a point about how she handles uncomfortable situations with humor.

“I’ll get right back up to pun speed just as soon as I’m sure you’re not hypothermic,” Coulson tells her, tucks the blankets more carefully up around her. She burrows down, presses her nose in against his throat, and he jumps a little. “Seriously, Skye, you’re freezing. I don’t think this safe house  _has_ any more blankets.”

“Body heat, right?” Daisy says, ignoring the name slip in favor of shifting a little closer. “You’d warm me up faster with skin contact.” Coulson makes a noise that Daisy interprets as ‘unconvinced’, and she shivers, maybe just a little more dramatically than warranted. “Seriously, Phil, I’ve done first aid courses. It’s what they recommend. Get naked, warm each other up faster.” There’s a pause, and then Coulson shrugs, pulls off his t-shirt and wriggles out of his jeans while trying not to let too much of a cold draft under the covers, and Daisy marvels that this was so easy. Except that then she tries to undo her own jeans, and her fingers are clumsy, too clumsy to manage, and, whoops, turns out Coulson worrying about hypothermia isn’t such a stupid worry after all.

“I can’t...” she tells him, a little embarrassed, and Coulson undoes them for her, tugs them off. He lifts her sweater over her head, leaving her in a tank top and underpants, then pulls her in closer again, settling his left arm carefully under the pillow with her head resting on it, and yeah, yeah, this is better, this is  _so_ much better. She tucks her feet between his calves, presses her hands against his ribs, and to Coulson’s credit, he barely even yelps even though she knows they’re basically popsicles right now. Coulson’s skin feels deliciously, tinglingly hot against hers, and as the warmth slowly spreads, she relaxes into it, wraps her arms around him. “This is nice,” she says drowsily, looks up at his face, and in this light, his eyes look very blue. “Being close to someone like this. I miss it.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Me too.”

“Has it been a long time?” she asks quietly. “For me, it has. Since Miles.”

“I died,” Coulson says. “So yeah, a long time.” That makes Daisy pull her hand back, press her palm questioningly against the scar that’s still livid on his chest, and he lifts his own hand to stroke her hair. She falls asleep like that, curled in against him, and sleeps wrapped in his arms all night.

In the morning, Daisy still feels like they’re caught in a drowsily intimate space of not-quite-professional, not-quite- _not_ -professional. She’s not hypothermic anymore, far from it, but Coulson’s warmth is still delicious and she doesn’t want to pull away. She waits, instead, watches Coulson slowly wake up, and god, how has she never realized before now how gorgeous this would be, how he makes cranky little faces and slowly, slowly cracks his eyes open, how he has a layer of stubble on his cheeks and chin that she just wants to run her fingertips against.

“Skye,” he says sleepily, traces his own fingertips down her spine and back up. “Morning?”

“Yeah,” Daisy breathes. “Morning. Hi.”

“You sleep okay?” he asks, and he’s still touching her, just gentle, sleepy caresses along her shoulders, the nape of her neck, and Daisy could lie here for hours, doing this.

“Uh huh,” she manages, blinks slowly and opens her eyes again to Coulson’s gaze blue and intent across the pillow. “You?”

“Yeah,” Coulson says. “Yeah. Sleeping next to someone. With someone. You’re right. I miss it. Waking up next to someone, too.”

“Well, I mean,” Daisy starts, clears her throat and tries again. “We could, uh, do it,  _again_ , sometime. Platonically, I mean. If you wanted.” She really did sleep well; Coulson’s vibrations sooth her, like a car journey or a gently swaying hammock lulling her to sleep.

“Hmmm,” Coulson says, and his fingers tremble for a second on her skin before he continues the gentle drag across her shoulderblade. “That... is tempting.”

“You’re very warm,” Daisy points out. “And your vibrations are kind of like a lullaby for me.”

“Are they?” he asks, sounding surprised, and Daisy smiles, skims her hand over his chest and down his ribs, because she loves when he’s surprised about her powers. 

“Yeah,” she tells him. “Very peaceful. Especially when you’re all, like, wrapped around me.” Coulson smiles at that, runs his hand down until it’s pressed against the small of her back, and even through her tank top, she can feel the heat of his hand.

“Given you’re no longer in danger of losing extremities, I can probably tell you now that your powers are  _much_ cooler than Mr Freeze,” he says, and Daisy smirks, presses a little vibration across his ribs. Coulson makes a noise that’s close to a moan, and his eyes darken. Daisy  _feels_  the mood shift, feels Coulson’s vibrations intensify, and oh, that’s interesting, that’s  _so_ interesting.

“We could... also do this again, non-platonically,” she suggests, and Phil responds immediately, pulls her the short distance across the pillow to kiss her breathless.

“Thank god,” he says, “thank god, Skye, I like that idea much better,” and she pushes a vibration harder against him, just hard enough to hear him moan again.

“It’s  _Daisy_ ,” she tells him, “will you ever get it right?”

“ _Daisy_ ,” he says, “ _sorry_ , Daisy,” and she just grins, slides her thigh up over his hip.

“I’ll see if you can remember that while we’re doing this,” she says, and he can’t, he totally can’t, but that’s okay, just this once. (It might be okay every time they wake up to sleepy, dreamy morning sex, she thinks, she’ll just have to test the theory).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god I love bed sharing, it is objectively the best trope


	4. risk of being caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for persiflage, who asked for: #8, risk of being caught

It's been ages, it's been  _weeks_ , since he and Daisy did this last, and Coulson feels the lack of it, has been missing it more than he'd let on, but nevertheless, he thinks.  _Nevertheless_.

"We could go to my bunk?" he suggests, and Daisy rolls her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," she says, "I like it here, it's fun."

"My bunk's a lot more... private," Coulson says, feeling a little desperate, and Daisy rolls her eyes again, gives him a serious look.

"Phil," she tells him, "it's fine, seriously, nobody's going to catch us. Mack's down in the garage, and Bobbi and Hunter are, uh, working out their divorce, and you know Jemma and Fitz aren't even on base at the moment, she went back to Sheffield for a while. It's  _fine_. Did you bring supplies?"

"Yeah," Phil says, capitulating. "Yeah, I did." Daisy leans in to kiss him, presses him back against the couch for one long moment, and then breaks away looking excited.

"What did you bring?" she asks, a little breathless, and Coulson blinks.

"I, uh, Central Otago pinot, and salted kettle fries," he says, pulling them out of the grocery bag, and Daisy sighs.

" _Phil_ ," she groans, "come  _on,_ the point of junk food is  _it's junk food_. Fancy wine and potato chips don't cut it. I know you know this. You're the guy who once offered me a Twizzler as emotional support."

"Well, what did  _you_ bring?" he counters, feeling just a little defensive, because just because his wine is from New Zealand doesn't make it _fancy_.

"Chocolate pudding and birthday cake vodka and Skittles," Daisy grins, and it's Coulson who's rolling his eyes now, but he pulls her in for another kiss just the same. " _And_ it's my turn to pick," she says, triumphant, against his mouth. He bites at her lower lip, just a little, because he can, and she moans softly, kisses back harder.

"What are you inflicting upon me this time," he asks eventually, and she looks sly, twists open the bottle of red wine he's bought and ignores the wine glasses, swigs a mouthful straight from the bottle. That shouldn't be as hot as it is, Coulson thinks, but god, it  _is_ , and Daisy can clearly see it in his eyes.

" _Funny Face_?" she says, holding up the DVD. Okay, that's not so bad. Last time her choice had been _Romeo + Juliet_ , and Coulson had definitely sniffed his way through the last third. "We had this on VHS at St Agnes," Daisy tells him, "we watched it so much we wore out the tape. And then I had a foster mom for a while who was really into Audrey Hepburn." They settle in on the couch with wine and Skittles and chips, and Daisy snuggles in against him, presses her mouth up against his ear. "I love your funny face," she sings softly, brushes kisses lightly down his neck and jaw, and god, yeah, Coulson's missed this. Secret Date Night is the  _best._

He sneaks glances at Daisy as they watch, and she's mouthing along with the lines. _Oh, it goes beyond sympathy_ , Audrey Hepburn says earnestly. _Sympathy is to understand what someone feels. Empathy is to project your imagination so, to actually feel what the other person is feeling_ , and Fred Astaire pulls her in for a kiss, and Daisy actually sighs a little heartfelt sigh.

"I see where you get it," Coulson teases, and Daisy grins.

"My thing for older men? Oh, totally, _Phil_ ," she teases back, gives him a look full of heat and desire. 

"Do  _you_ have any desire to be kissed?" Coulson asks playfully, and the way Daisy smiles at him, he knows the answer. 

"Yeah," she agrees, "yeah, I do, Phil, I definitely do," and she climbs into his lap so she can act on that desire a little better. Phil hits pause on the DVD, and she laughs and laughs. "No pausing date night movies," she says, sits back, looks thoughtfully at him. "Hey, will you, uh, can you do that thing I like?" she asks, shy all of a sudden, and Coulson nods, kisses the corner of her mouth.

"Come here," he says, resettles them on the couch so she's sitting with her back against his chest. She hits play again, grabs the tub of chocolate pudding, and Coulson gently strokes her hair, lets her relax against him, holds her close. Daisy falls asleep on him, and as Coulson just begins to drift off to sleep himself, he thinks, it's totally, totally  _perfect._

 

"I swear," he hears Hunter say the next morning, as he comes into the kitchen. "I swear, okay, I came into the break room, and I caught Daisy and the Director  _spooning on the couch watching a musical_."

"Whatever," Mack chuckles. "Quit making shit up, Lance."

"No, I swear, it happ-uh,  _hi_ , Director, good morning, how was your night?"

"Fine," Coulson says blandly, "just fine." Daisy comes in, then, gives him a cheeky little smile, and Hunter frowns.

"Morning," she says, "morning, Hunter. Mack."

"Tremors," Mack says. "Good date night?"

"Yeah," Daisy agrees easily. "Yeah, it was. It was lovely."

" _Musicals_ ," Hunter hisses. "I'm  _not making it up._ "

"No," Daisy says cheerfully. "Musicals are my favorite. You totally caught us. Good job."

"Oh," Hunter replies, "oh, well, that- okay. I. Okay." He pauses, takes a mouthful of tea and then sprays it out. " _You and the Director_?"

"You're embarrassing yourself," Mack tells him gravely, and Daisy just laughs, leans in against Coulson and presses her fingertips to his back.

"Thanks," she murmurs. "Next time, your bunk?"

"Less chance of being caught," he agrees, and maybe it's not Secret Date Night anymore now that Hunter and therefore the whole team knows, but Daisy's right: it's lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello I fell into a lot of fluff here and I regret nothing
> 
> also funny face is kind of a terrible film but I also love it a lot

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr if you want: notcaycepollard.tumblr.com


End file.
